Kael woke before dawn with a tremor in his chest. The Rite's memoryglass shards had settled around his bed, floating in a half-circle like silent witnesses. He pressed a hand to the spiral on his skin. It felt warm and steady, as if his heartbeat had become part of the city's pulse.
He rose on unsteady legs, careful not to disturb the shards. His new robe of pale indigo caught the first gray light through the window. He had never felt so strange and certain at once. The Rite had bound his echo—his memory—into the spiral. Now he carried himself and the memory of the song together.
Outside the Hall of Rites, the city lay hushed beneath a low sky. Lanterns glowed like eyes watching him. Kael met Lira at the carved archway. She offered him a quiet smile and a small bundle tied with silver thread. "For mapping," she said. "Today, you learn how echoes shape places no one has lived."
Kael's stomach tightened. "The City That Never Was," he murmured. He had heard the phrase whispered among the Choir. A place of dreams and half-forgotten hopes. A shared echo that pulsed beneath Ashmere's stones, only visible to those who carried the spiral brand.
They walked side by side through empty streets. Lira guided him toward a broad plaza lined with empty benches. Memoryglass shards drifted here as well, but they were dim and still. A fallen fountain stood at its center—dry, hollow, its basin carved with spirals that led nowhere.
"Place your hand on the basin," Lira instructed. She knelt and touched one of the floating shards. It glowed faintly and a whisper of wind swept through the plaza. The ground trembled under Kael's boots.
He hesitated, then pressed his palm to the cracked stone. A pulse of warmth ran up his arm. The shards stirred. One by one, they rose into the air and formed a spiral above the basin. Their glow brightened like stars blinking awake.
Kael closed his eyes. A memory bloomed in his mind—a crowded street he had never walked, lined with stalls and laughter. He smelled fresh bread and spices. He heard a child's delighted shout over a merchant's song. His heart moved as if he had lived that day long ago.
He staggered back, breath catching. The shards fell into place around the plaza, each one filled with the echo of that unreal market. He opened his eyes and saw the plaza transform under the shards' light. Where empty benches had stood, he now saw wooden stalls draped in cloth. The cracked fountain glowed with water that caught the shards' reflections.
Lira rose beside him. "The City That Never Was takes shape from echoes," she said softly. "It is built on memories shared by many but claimed by none." She handed Kael the silver-thread bundle. "Use this. Tie each echo you map to the thread. Mark its place on your sketchbook."
Kael took the thin loops of thread, feeling its cool weight. He unwrapped one loop and pressed it against his palm. The thread hummed, matching the spiral's pulse. He dipped the end in his blue ink and touched it to the first shard hovering near the empty market stall. The shard glowed brighter, and a fine silver strand wrapped around it like a tether.
On the blank page of his sketchbook, images sprang to life—quick lines of stalls, crowds, sunlight on cloth. The echo imprinted itself through his hand, leaving behind a faint glow on the paper. He watched the sketch for a moment, amazed by its living light.
"Good," Lira whispered. "Now find the next echo." She pointed toward a row of half-visible buildings. Each looked spectral—pillars and arches of pale stone. They appeared as if painted by mist. Kael walked among them, searching for shimmering shards.
He found one near an archway: a shard showing a weeping woman singing an old lullaby. He tied it with green-glowing thread and watched her tears become part of his sketch. His heart twisted at the sorrow he had never felt, yet now carried inside him.
Step by step, echo by echo, Kael mapped the phantom city. He captured children playing in ghostly courtyards, lovers meeting behind silent walls, and a lone musician striking a harp that had never been strung. Each new echo left him reeling, as if he had lived countless unseen lives.
He paused when the sun climbed higher and the illusions wavered. In the pale light, the spectral buildings trembled. The shards flickered and fell toward the dry fountain basin. Kael watched the bustling echoes drain away, the market stalls dissolving into dust, the laughter fading like a half-dream at dawn.
Lira touched his arm. "They vanish in daylight. You must work quickly." She led him to another shadowed lane where the shards flickered more boldly. Here, Kael found echoes of ancient ceremonies—spiral dancers weaving ribbons around a tree that was not there.
He sketched with careful strokes, each line alive with memory. The tree he drew twisted into a spiral trunk, its branches curled in perfect loops. A distant breeze he could not feel stirred the leaves. He pressed the silver thread into his ink—this time gold—and tied the shard to his page.
As the last echoes drifted away, Kael felt a hollow ache. He had carried so many lives for only a moment. His own memories felt faint in comparison. He closed the sketchbook, breath trembling. He wondered if any of these echoes were true or if they were dreams cast by Ashmere's collective longing.
Lira watched him with gentle eyes. "These echoes are part of Ashmere's soul. They never lived, yet they shaped the city's heart." She took his hand and guided him back to the plaza. The shards were gathering again, ready for the next round of dreams.
Kael nodded slowly. He lifted his sketchbook and thread coil, feeling their weight like a promise. He would capture each echo—true or not—and place them on paper. He would map the unbuilt city so it could exist in memory and story.
They moved back through the streets, sometimes in silence, sometimes whispering what they saw. Lira pointed out hidden shards stuck in alley corners and under cell window bars. Kael found echoes of old prisoners dreaming of freedom, of scholars reciting words that vanished as soon as they were spoken.
With each sketch, Kael felt more connected to Ashmere's unseen side. The phantom city no longer felt distant. It was built on loss and hope, sorrow and joy, all mixed together. It was a city born in the shared breath of those who had no memory of home.
By midday, Kael's sketchbook brimmed with drawings. Thread tied each echo to the page. The book glowed faintly, humming under his touch. He and Lira returned to the Hall of Rites through the winding lanes. They passed statues of singers and dancers, now dull in the sunlight.
Inside the Hall, he laid his sketches on a long table. Cantor Solen and several Choir members stood waiting. They studied the pages in silence, their eyes reflecting the glowing ink. Kael watched his work with trepidation—had he mapped the city correctly?
Solen nodded approvingly. "You have captured what no one else could," he said. His voice echoed softly in the high chamber. "The City That Never Was now has shape in our memory. You have given it life."
Kael exhaled, relief and awe battling in his chest. He realized that in mapping the phantom city, he had also mapped his own echo. Each shard had stirred something deep within him—loss, wonder, courage. He felt a new part of himself awaken.
One of the cantors placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your spiral brand shines brighter," she said. "Your echo grows with each act of remembrance." She smiled kindly. "Rest now. Tomorrow you will begin a new task: to bring these echoes into the waking city."
Kael folded his sketches and wound the silver thread into a neat coil. He thought of the phantom fountains and the laughter of unseen crowds. He thought of the weeping woman's lullaby and the spiral dancers. He felt both heavy and light—heavy with memory, light with purpose.
That night, Kael returned to his small chamber and placed his sketchbook by the window. The moon slipped behind drifting clouds, and he saw faint glimmers of memoryglass shards outside. He opened the book to the first page and traced the drawn lines with his finger. The ink pulsed under his touch.
He whispered the melody of the spiral dancers and the lullaby of the weeping woman. His voice trembled with the echoes of those who had never lived. Outside, a hush settled over Ashmere as if the city listened to his song.
Kael lay on his bed, sketchbook in one hand, silver thread in the other. He closed his eyes and let sleep carry him into the phantom city's streets. He walked among empty stalls where the air smelled of bread and spice. He saw spiral dancers weaving ribbons of light around a tree that was only half there.
When he woke at dawn, his chest throbbed with the spiral's glow. He pressed a hand to his skin and remembered the phantom city in vivid detail. It no longer felt like a dream. It felt like home.
He rose with a new certainty: he would bring the City That Never Was into the life of Ashmere. He would weave the unbuilt world into the waking streets, so that lost echoes could find a place to live.
His journey had only begun. And already, Kael Virein carried the weight of countless dreams. He gathered his robe, his sketchbook, and his coil of thread. He stepped into the dawn light, ready to shape memory into reality.
Chapter 3 ends.